


Black Lace, Big Mistakes

by goth_on_ham



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Attempted Seduction, Fluff, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:25:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goth_on_ham/pseuds/goth_on_ham
Summary: The Van Dahl household receives an unexpected guest. Victor Zsasz. Charles is tasked with getting rid of him, but it goes wrong.





	Black Lace, Big Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> A friend and I both wrote a fic from the same prompt: ‘Victor finds Oswald living at the Van Dahl's and is invited to stay as his guest. Charles is given the task of seducing him, but when his attempt fails, he turns to violence.’ You can read her story [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11302731)

Charles didn’t understand his step-father. He didn’t know if he was as crazy as his son, if he was simple, or if he was plotting something. 

His mother had already told him that Oswald was not to be trusted. That he was a violent criminal. He’d _killed_ people. Yet Elijah had said that none of that mattered. He had been reformed. He was part of the family.

Since Elijah wasn’t willing to cast him out for his crimes, Charles began to doubt that the three of them would ever be able to convince the old man to get rid of him. What else could they do?

His mother was convinced she would think of something. Sasha agreed. They were more tenacious than Charles was. Charles just thought they didn’t know when to quit.

Of course he wanted the money, the house, all of that, but if they couldn’t get it from Elijah, maybe they could convince Oswald to pass it onto them after _he_ died. That seemed easier than trying to convince Elijah to disown his long lost son.

Sasha had rolled her eyes at him when he’d suggested that. 

“It’s not that simple, dummy. I mean, can you stand living with that wretch for months, maybe years? I know I can’t.” 

“I dunno. He doesn’t seem that bad.” 

Sasha gasped in horror at his ambivalence, “You’re not serious. He’s a creep. A loser. A-“

“Are you just mad because he turned you down?” Charles teased, feeling rather pleased with himself at figuring that out. Sasha’s frown proved him right. “I still think mother should have let me try.” He added.

Sasha huffed softly and turned a page in the book she was reading. She was pointedly ignoring him now, a tactic of hers when she wanted a conversation to end. Charles knew from past experiences that if he kept probing after this point, he’d end up being screeched at and that heavy hardback that she was reading would probably be launched at his head.

After a few moments of stony silence, the siblings heard the doorbell ring. For a reason Charles didn’t understand yet, an ominous chill came over him.

—

Charles and Sasha were introduced to the visitor later that afternoon. They had tried to watch him through a crack in the door when he’d first been invited in, but he’d noticed. He’d turned and stared at them, until the pair had scurried off, before even realising why they had felt compelled to run when the mysterious man had seen them.

“I bet he’s one of Oswald’s friends.” Sasha said, once they felt that they were a safe distance from him. Although her voice was still quieter than usual. It reminded Charles of when they had been children and they would whisper to each other as quietly as they could, so they could pass time without incurring their beastly father’s wrath. 

“Does he _have_ friends?” Charles asked, voice similarly soft. 

“Well, he’s certainly not one of mother’s.” 

Charles had to agree with that. 

They lived secluded lives in Elijah’s mansion. Their mother had few friends, and fewer still that would call at the house unannounced. Especially dressed as this man was.

Everything he wore was black. There only glimpse of colour on his outfit was the silver buckle of his belt. It was shaped like a skull.

—

“Grace, Charles, Sasha. This is Victor. He’s an old friend.” Oswald was standing at one side of the mysterious, oddly disquieting man, Elijah at the other. The father and son both seemed very happy, but Victor’s expression was harder to read. He looked like he was scrutinising all three of them, and Charles didn’t like it. 

“Charmed, I’m sure. May I ask what he’s doing here?” Charles was grateful for his mother’s curtness, because he couldn’t find it in himself to speak. But he wanted the man out of their house. 

The man, who was apparently called Victor, smiled briefly at that. So briefly that Charles wasn’t sure if anyone else had caught it. He shivered.

“Grace, please. Don’t be rude. Victor has come a long way to see Oswald.” Elijah put a hand on Victor’s back, seemingly undisturbed by the other man’s presence. “I’m sure they have a lot to catch up on.”

Charles saw his mother fight the urge to bark at him, but she managed to remain composed. She smiled, tightly. “I apologise. I am simply curious about how this man claims to know your son. Oswald may be reformed, but as for this young man…” She paused for dramatic effect and raised her eyebrows. “Who can say?”

“I don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable. I wanted to see if Oswald was safe. I’ve seen that now. So I can go.” The voice that came out of Victor was not really what Charles had expected. It was calm, measured, and he didn’t seem offended by his mother hinting that she wanted him to leave. Perhaps he was used to such treatment. That wouldn’t have surprised Charles, the man looked like he belonged in a horror movie.

“Oh no, Victor.” Oswald piped up. He put a hand on Victor’s chest, then quickly removed it, embarrassed. “Grace, please. I would love to talk more with Victor. It’s been so long since we have last seen each other, and I really have so few friends left.”

“That’s settled then. You should stay for dinner.” Elijah announced, much to the quiet disapproval of Grace, Sasha, and Charles.

—

Charles walked over to the wall as quietly as he could and gently unhooked one of the old paintings. It was a portrait of one of Elijah’s ancestors. Behind it, there was a small peephole. 

His mother had placed several around the house, and only him and his sister were privy to them. 

He looked through it.

Victor was sitting with Oswald. They were having tea, out of the _good_ china. They were only meant to use that on special occasions. His mother would be furious if she knew.

Victor took a bite out of a slice of strawberry shortcake, he didn’t even have the manners to use a fork, and licked his lips. Oswald hesitated, then he wiped  off a little bit of cream that had landed Victor’s chin. Charles didn’t know how Oswald had the stomach to touch him. He wasn’t ugly, but he was frightening, and that was far harder to ignore.

“Thanks.” Victor said, surprisingly softly.

Oswald smiled foolishly and he fidgeted with his hands. He didn’t seem to know what to do with them, so he ended up folding his napkin in his lap and squeezing it into a tightly rolled cylinder. “I’m so very glad to see you, Victor. I was beginning to think that I had no friends at all.” His eyes moved between looking at Victor and staring at his lap. He seemed to be too nervous to hold his gaze. 

“What about Nygma?” Victor asked. Charles didn’t know who that was.

“I went to see him… But he was busy.” 

Victor’s expression hardened a little, but only a little, and then he put a hand over Oswald’s. Oswald gasped slightly, his face getting so pink that Charles could see it from his peephole.

“Victor?”

“Do you want me to get rid of him for you?” Charles’ eyes widened, and Oswald’s did too.

“Good lord, no!” Oswald exclaimed, “I, I appreciate the offer. But no, no he was just busy. I don’t want you to kill anyone for me.”

Charles turned tail and ran, no longer remembering to be quiet.

—

“As assassin?” Grace repeated, aghast. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m serious. I heard them talking about it.” Charles insisted.

Sasha frowned, then with a sigh she flicked her hair over her shoulder and shrugged. “I suppose I’m not _too_ surprised.”

“What are we going to do? Oswald said he doesn’t want him to kill anyone for him, but if he finds out what we’re up to, who knows what he’ll do?” 

“Don’t panic, Charles.” His mother ordered, getting a little impatient at his lack of mettle. “Can’t you be more like Sasha? She’s perfectly calm. That’s what we must do in these types of situations. Keep a level head and think rationally about the best course of action.”

Sasha smirked at him and Charles pouted. 

“Yes, mother.” He muttered, a little sulkily. Although he didn’t think he had really been overreacting all that much.

“You’re right though, it is concerning. We need to come up with a plan. Usually, I would suggest we tell Elijah about this discovery and have him kick him out, but it’s clear now that isn’t an option.” Grace pursed her lips, frustrated. 

“Assassins just work for money, right? Maybe we can bribe him away.” Sasha suggested.

“A bribe could work, but Elijah would notice the missing funds.” 

“Maybe we could bribe him with something else.” Charles rolled his eyes at how transparently Sasha said that. He was sure that she was simply looking for a chance to soothe her ego. It was still bruised from when Oswald had turned her down.

“I don’t think that would work. I also saw how close the two of them seemed. He won’t be interested in _you_.” Charles said, taking a bit of spiteful joy in how Sasha scowled at that.

“Oswald and the assassin?” Grace raised an eyebrow. 

“Gross.” Sasha added, moodily, folding her arms across her chest. 

“Perhaps then, Charles, my dear, this is your chance to prove yourself.”

Charles opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, his mother was already guiding him upstairs by the shoulders.

—

His mother made him dress in his finest clothes and coiffed his hair just right. She told him to smile at Victor, to listen attentively to his stories, and to ask him questions. Apparently, men loved being asked questions. 

However, at dinner, Victor barely spoke, so he couldn’t really ask him anything. He tried to, but whenever he did, Victor would give short answers that made Charles feel as if he was more likely to be irritating him, rather than seducing him. 

He looked helplessly over at his mother, who ignored him, and he took that to mean that their plan was still going ahead. 

“Apparently, Victor worked for Oswald when he was ‘the Penguin’. Isn’t that exciting, dear?” Elijah said, towards the end of the meal. His eyes lit up with boyish excitement. Charles didn’t understand him at all.

—

Victor had been invited to stay the night, and so Charles found out what room he was staying in and went up there first. Elijah, Oswald and Victor were still talking downstairs. Or at least, Elijah and Oswald were talking, Victor was sitting with them. Patiently answering Elijah’s questions far more politely than he had Charles’.

Charles put on a black silk dressing gown that his mother had given him. He wore only that, and a pair of tight fitting lace underwear that he would never have picked. His mother insisted that it would work. As he waited, Charles looked at himself in the mirror. 

He moved the dressing gown aside so that more of his chest and stomach was exposed. Pale beside the black silk. He took the dressing gown off for a moment, and turned around in front of the mirror. He still wasn’t sure about the underwear, but, as he bent over in front of the mirror, he supposed that it _did_ show off his ass nicely.

“I thought this was my room.” 

Charles let out a yelp and jumped back, grabbing the dressing gown and holding it to himself. But it was too late. Victor had clearly already seen what he was doing. His face went scarlet. He had never been so humiliated.

Nonetheless, he still had to try. He put the dressing gown back on, as elegantly as he could, and he made an attempt to look sultry. Victor blinked. 

“It is your room, but I thought we might share it.” Charles suggested, raising an eyebrow and taking a step towards the other man. He put his hand on Victor’s shoulder, and he didn’t move away. Charles took that to be indicative that he would succeed.

“Why did you put the robe back on if you want me to have sex with you?” Victor asked, and Charles felt his face colour again. 

“Does it matter?” He asked, more moodily than he’d meant to. He checked himself, and tilted his head up, blinking appealingly at him. “I suppose I was cold. Perhaps you could warm me up…”

He saw no change in Victor’s expression, and so he took another step forwards, and then he was close enough to rub himself against him. He did so, making sure a wanton moan passed his lips. 

Victor actually felt quite good. Firm. Strong. Charles began to think that it wouldn’t be too much of an ordeal to spend the night with him. However, just as he was getting accustomed to the idea, Victor stepped away from him and walked past him to the bed.

“Sorry. Not interested. I’m only here to see Oswald.” 

Charles spun around. He couldn’t believe it. Had he just been turned down in favour of his pasty faced, crippled, skinny, simpering step brother? That would not stand.

“Excuse me?” He asked, making no effort to hide his outrage. He couldn’t.

“You’re not my type.” Victor replied simply, unmoved by his rage. 

“But _he_ is?” Charles understood why Sasha had been so insulted when Oswald had refused her. It stung, and it didn’t make sense. They were both far too good for those freaks, yet they presumed to reject them? 

“Yep.” 

“You’re crazy. Have you _seen_ him?” Charles paused in his accusations when he saw Victor’s expression darken. That familiar feeling of discomfort and terror rose in him, and the anger faded from him, replaced by icy fear. He wrapped the dressing gown around himself tighter, but it did no good to warm him. Nor did it make him feel protected.

“I think you should go.” Victor said, and Charles did not waste any time in doing so.

—

Charles went back to his own room and sulked the rest of the night. The more he thought about what had happened, the more it infuriated him. 

He thought of Oswald and he couldn’t picture how or why Victor could prefer that nobody over _him._ True, Oswald had apparently been somebody once. But he couldn’t imagine it. Besides, if the papers were to be believed, he’d been a glorified thug in a nice suit. Even back then, there should have been no contest between him and Charles.

He was woken up in the morning by his mother knocking on his bedroom door. Before waiting for a response, she came in, Sasha just behind her. Charles remembered what he was wearing, and he pulled the robe around himself for a bit of modesty. 

“I see that you weren’t successful last night.” Grace said, clearly disappointed. 

“I tried, but he turned me down. He _insulted_ me.” Charles didn’t like that she had brought his sister with her. It felt like Sasha was just there to make fun of him. The mischievous glint in her eyes and how she bit down on her bottom lip confirmed his suspicions. 

“We need him out of this house somehow, Charles.” She scolded, and Charles lowered his eyes so that he didn’t have to keep looking at her disapproval or Sasha’s smirk. 

“I know.” He mumbled.

“We’re going out to the city centre with Oswald and Elijah, perhaps you can think of something while we’re out.” 

“Can’t I come too?”

“I’ve already told Elijah that you have a bit of a cold, he won’t be expecting you.” His mother was aloof, and it stung.

Charles felt like he was being punished. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault that Victor wasn’t interested. Sasha hadn’t been punished when _she’d_ failed.

“Victor isn’t going with you?” He asked.

“He said he had to catch up with his sleeping. Apparently he spent all of yesterday walking around Gotham trying to find Oswald.” Sasha said, seemingly amused by the notion that anyone would go to that much trouble to find him. 

“I see.” Charles muttered, miserably.

Grace and Sasha made their way back to the door, they turned around to address him before leaving. “We’ll be back by three. I’ll expect you to have come up with a solution by then.”

—

After he heard the others leave, Charles made his way downstairs and had breakfast. The house was quiet and almost entirely empty, so he didn’t bother changing into his daytime clothes yet. It felt a bit funny eating alone, but he hadn’t been woke up in time for it earlier. He chewed on his toast and considered his options. 

He needed Victor out before three o’clock, or he needed to win him over. He thought back to how the previous night had went, and his stomach turned in embarrassment. He couldn’t face trying to seduce him again. 

That left the other option, getting rid of Victor. 

He was scared of trying that. After all, he was a deadly assassin, but it was preferable to the alternative. 

Besides, he reasoned, if he was asleep, it would be easy. Plus, it was only twelve o’clock, so he would have hours to clean up the mess afterwards. 

He finished his breakfast and went to the kitchen. He took out a knife that looked suitable for the job, and began to make his way up to the disquieting houseguest’s bedroom.

—

As he crept up the stairs, he felt his resolve to carry out the murder grow and grow. His mind kept going back to how Victor had spurned him, and he decided that he _deserved_ this.

Once he was done, he was sure that he would feel better about being rejected as well. After all, it was hard to stay mad at someone when they were dead.

When he got to Victor’s door, he paused outside of it and pressed his ear to the wood. He could hear slow, steady breathing, and no movement. He was asleep.

He turned the doorknob, slowly, then made his way into the bedroom.

Victor was lying on his back, on top of the covers. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, because he hadn’t brought another set with him, and was fully dressed apart from his boots. They were at the foot on the bed.

Charles swallowed deeply. He could feel his heart pound in his chest. Suddenly, the room seem very cold and very hot all at once. His palms were sweaty. He gripped onto the handle of the knife tighter.

He took a couple more steps forwards so that he was standing beside the bed. 

He had never killed anyone before. He told himself that it was natural to hesitate a bit. It didn’t mean that he was having second thoughts. 

The young man breathed in deep and raised the knife up high, but as he brought it down, a hand far stronger than his own caught his wrist. 

“Ah!” He let out a gasp of pain, his face contorting in surprise as he saw that Victor was awake, and alert. And _amused._

“I was wondering if you would actually go through with it. I’m kind of surprised.” Victor chuckled. Charles made soft sounds of effort as he tried to prise his arm away, but it was futile. Victor brought up his other hand and disarmed him. When he no longer had the knife, Charles’ first reaction was to run. He pulled back against Victor’s grip, but he didn’t let him go.

“Ugh, damn it! Let go of me!” He demanded, but that only elicited more mirth from the assassin. Charles loathed him. What did he have to do for this monster to take him seriously? 

Victor put the knife aside with his spare hand and once he had, he tugged Charles forward roughly. The younger man cried out as he found himself face down over Victor’s lap.

“What are you doing?” He complained, trying to sound braver than he felt.

Victor didn’t answer, he simply tutted, almost theatrically. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with knives?” He chided, and with that, he landed a hard swat on the centre of Charles’ ass. 

“Ow!” Charles twisted around as best as he could, but Victor wrapped an arm around his waist and kept him pinned. He dished out two more smacks, and Charles howled. “No, no! Let me go! You can’t do this!”

Victor carried on ignoring him and spanking him, and although Charles still had his underwear on and his robe was covering his ass, both the thin garments gave him little protection. He yelled out more than the punishment warranted, and that seemed to amuse Victor. 

“Don’t be such a crybaby. I’m not angry with you. I’m just teaching you a lesson.” He remarked, far too cheerfully. He shifted Charles forwards a bit and flipped up his dressing gown. Charles was mortified. He opened his mouth to complain, but what Victor said next quietened him. “Believe me, if I was angry with you, you’d already be dead.”

Charles whimpered, then yelped as Victor swatted him, the sound sharper now that it was on bare skin. The lace underwear rode up high on his ass, leaving most of his cheeks uncovered. “Stop!” He begged.

Victor did, for a moment. He ran his hand over the sore skin, almost soothingly. “You deserve this, and I’m not just talking about trying to stab me.” He slapped him again, Charles felt tears come to his eyes, and he did what he could to wipe them away.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He sniffled. 

Victor sighed, he raised his hand, and Charles squeezed his eyes shut in dread. His hand struck the tender, soft spots where Charles’ ass met his thighs, and Charles sobbed in distress. “No! That, that hurts too much!” He pleaded, but once again, he was ignored. Victor smacked him again on the same spot. “Ah! Stop, please!”

He supposed that he should be trying to take it with some dignity. But he couldn’t. It _hurt,_ and it was humiliating, and he was certain that he didn’t deserve it.

The spanking continued, Charles wailing and writhing and soon blurting out absurd promises that he was sorry and that he’d never, ever do it again. In his desperation, he even made a plaintive promise to ‘be good’. Yet none of his ministrations seemed to move his torturer, and Charles began to think he would be spanked until three o’clock, when the others returned home. 

“Ow! Please stop! Ow! Please, I’ve learned my lesson!” He promised, and he meant it. He would never try to stab someone like Victor ever again. He would never try to stab anyone again. It hadn’t really been because his mother had tasked him with getting rid of Victor, he had wanted revenge for his humiliation. But this was far, far worse than being turned down. It made him understand that he was nothing to Victor, merely a naughty child who had crossed a line by trying to harm him, and that stung almost as much as the spanking did. _Almost._

“Have you?” Victor asked and Charles responded enthusiastically in the affirmative. 

“Yes, yes! I swear!” 

“Alright then.” Victor brought his hand down on his ass, but lighter this time. He unhooked his arm from around Charles’ waist and draped his dressing gown back over his ass, which he patted twice more for good measure. “Take the knife back to the kitchen and go to your room.”

Charles didn’t even think about trying to use the knife on him again. He did as he was told.

—

Charles didn’t know why Victor had told him to go back to his room afterwards. It was _his_ home, not Victor’s, but he didn’t dare disobey him. 

He was reminded of when he had misbehaved as a child, and he would be told off and sent to his bedroom to think about what he did. Perhaps that was why.

He took off the robe and let it fall to the floor. He would never wear the thing again. He needed to change his underwear too, he didn’t want to spend another minute in the clothes that he’d been punished in. 

As he walked passed it, Charles caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Before he realised quite why, he went back so that he was standing in front of it, and he turned around. His ass wasn’t as red as it felt, but it was a bright, hot shade of pink, and his face soon joined it in that colour when he saw it. 

He hissed softly as he ran a hand over himself, he wished that he’d had the foresight to take some ice from the kitchen to soothe it. 

It was only about an hour later, when he was lying forlornly on his stomach in bed, that Charles realised he had no idea what to tell his mother and sister when they returned home.


End file.
